


kick the door down

by deliciously_devient



Series: Death's Best Man [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angel!Mercy, Dragon!Genji - Freeform, Dragon!Hanzo, M/M, eldritch!zenyatta, humanized!zenyatta, supernatural!mccree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-01 11:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13997787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciously_devient/pseuds/deliciously_devient
Summary: They are wary; they know, even wounded, he is dangerous.Good.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s blood dripping from his mouth, puddling just under his mask; he thinks it might actually be dripping down his neck, the seal on his helmet broken a while ago. His left leg isn’t working, he’s out of shuriken, and there are a myriad of red lights and warnings flashing on his HUD, telling him about all the critical organ failures he’s experiencing. There are Talon agents closing in on either side of him, circling him like coyotes on a dying wolf. They are wary; they know, even wounded, he is dangerous.

 

_ Good. _

 

Soba is stirring under his skin, loud and dangerous, rumbling ominously, and his eyes narrow as he draws his wakizashi. His katana had snapped a while ago, the fragile blade breaking with one too many deflections. He doesn’t know if this last stand will be enough, if it will buy him enough time for the rest of the team to find him, if Mercy can bring him back from the brink a second time.

 

Nothing is certain, but he is not going to be the only one dying today.

 

He grips his blade tight. He breathes in wetly, and opens his mouth to call forth the dragon. He feels Soba’s roar in a strange way, thrumming through his skin, blurring his vision instead of sharpening it, making his soul feel as though it’s vibrating out of his body.

 

He roars with the dragon’s voice; the Talon agents hesitate, step back, run.

 

He chases.

______

 

Zenyatta is at once granted sightlessness, and clarity. His sensors go dark, and in the brief instance before his core powers offline, he knows they will not light again. He experiences a sensation not unlike intentional offlining for repairs, and he is looking down at the battlefield he had been apart of just moments ago with a gentle sadness.

 

“Brother,” Mondatta says, and when Zenyatta drags his attention from Angela frantically fighting her way to his fallen body, he is not surprised to see his brother and mentor floating beside him on the edge of what is his impression of the Iris. He has not decided he is going, yet; Mondatta glows with it, it is part of him, shining through his soul and touch his outline in every way. He looks resplendent, and it hurts to see him like this. He misses Mondatta in this moment so much it is nearly sends him to his knees, though he is not sure he has any, like this.

 

“I had hoped you would not join me so soon,” Mondatta says, and he is holding his hand out, a fond sadness projecting from him.

 

“I’m afraid you will have to wait, just a bit longer, my brother,” Zenyatta replies; he sees Angela reach his body, sees the lines of power radiating out from her in her grief, how the wings of her Valkyrie suit morph and shimmer in a way they are not meant to. He feels a tug in his gut, knows that his time with his brother is limited, for now, and he turns to him again.

 

“I am sorry, that the last words I said to you were so cruel,” he says, the wounds still raw, the argument still fresh with his perfect recollection.

 

“Do not be, dearest brother,” Mondatta replies. “My last words to you were not so kind as well. We said things in anger, without care to what the future would bring.”

 

“How foolish, we were, then,” he says, and he aches. “I am glad you have found peace in the Iris.”

 

Mondatta nods, once, and Zenyatta has the impression he is smiling, though he cannot be sure. He tilts his head as though to continue speaking, but the tug in Zenyatta’s gut is more insistent, and he is snatched away through the ether violently, spinning through it wildly before slamming back into his body.

 

“ _ Heroes never die! _ ” is the first thing he hears, and he shakes his head, frantically trying to run a systems check, panic growing when he can’t. He feels the ground under him, the cold concrete, sees Angela hovering over him, her eyes wide, but when he tries to send out his sensors to monitor her vitals he can’t find them. There is an unfamiliar burning in his chest, a frantic thudding in his chest that confuses him, and, for some reason, he has the instinct to open his mouth plate.

 

He gives into the urge, drags in air in a move that is usually used to clean out his internal wires. The burning in his chest is gone immediately, and he raises his hands, staring at them in confusion. They are not the hands he is used to. They do not gleam dully, the joints are not visible and none of his diagnostic programs are responding to his commands.

 

The hands he stars at are flesh. 

 

“Oh Zenyatta,” Mercy says, and her eyes are full of tears and her lips are trembling. “I’m sorry- I didn’t- I’m sorry.”

 

____

 

The dragons are stirring under Hanzo’s skin, but he has kept a tight rein on them throughout the battle that he is quickly losing. Genji had gone comm-dark thirty minutes ago, and before then he had been heavily wounded and in bad spot. Hanzo is unsure of his fate and it is making him reckless as he tears through the compound, searching for a brother he is unsure is still alive.

 

His heart is beating a rapid tattoo in his chest, and the dragons are begging to be released, pressing against his skin and his mind and he has half a mind to set them loose on the entire compound to allow them their flesh.

 

He turns another corner, bow drawn, and lets it fall from slack fingers as he catches sight of what is around the wall.

 

Standing about three heads taller than him and about the length of a small car is a vibrant green dragon. It is curled in on itself, listing heavily to one side, and its breath appears to be shallow; it is covered in blood, but how much of it is its own and how much of it belongs to the many - _ many _ \- corpses around it is uncertain.

 

“Genji?” Hanzo gasps, and the dragon turns its great head on him like a whip, snarling, before it seems to recognize him. It huffs out a breath, whining in pain, and as he uncurls, Hanzo sees he is missing several limbs, and there are wounds consistent with Genji’s injuries that Hanzo easily identifies. What cinches it, however, is the small bit of silver armour clinging to the dragon’s side.

 

“Genji!” he exclaims, rushing forward. He smoothes a hand down his brothers flank soothingly as he calls for Angela, pressing his hands against a large gash that is bleeding sluggishly. The wounds he has seem to be healing slowly, both old and new - and most are new, as it seems that the transformation somehow destroyed his cybernetics. “Help is coming, hush. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and Genji pushes his head into Hanzo’s hands, seeking comfort. “I will protect you, don’t worry,” he murmurs, the dragons roiling under his skin. He ignores them; he needs to keep his head, and he has a sneaking suspicion that releasing them would put him in the same position Genji is in.

 

When Mercy finally arrives, she doesn’t even seem to question the massive dragon Hanzo is comforting is Genji; her staff is out and the beam is attached to him in moments. Hanzo heaves a sigh of relief, and Genji relaxes as his pain begins to wane. 

 

“We need to call the retreat,” Mercy calls into her comm, and there is an affirmative response, and then Hanzo is helping heard his brother through the Talon compound to the Orca. He is stable, Mercy assures, but he has several missing organs now. He is unsure how Genji is still alive, at this point, but he is more worried about getting him back to Gibraltar and, perhaps, coaxing him back into human form.

 

“I wouldn’t,” Jesse says, and Hanzo blinks, looking up from his brother to see Mercy video chatting with his lover. She had just asked him if it would be better to get Genji to shift back. “If’n he’s anything like other weres, it means his healin’ and endurance is increased in his shifted form. Going back could very well kill him, so just let him lie until you get back to base. I’ll be makin’ a trip to th’ states for a minute, t’ see what I can learn from some old friends. Put him in the Cradle when you get here, then have him change back.”

 

Mercy nods, and Hanzo takes note of the brown-skinned man in a shock blanket next to her. There is something familiar about him, but he is more concerned with his brother.

 

Everything else can wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im not entirely satisfied with chapter, but I felt the only way around this writing block was through it. Hopefully this is a nice update for everyone who sent such lovely comments and encouragement. I know my works are filled with unfinished works but I’m not done with this one by a long shot! It’s a labor of love, and I don’t want to abandon it. If you’ve enjoyed this series thus far, please comment or follow me on Twitter @thejackening to bother me about it!

Zenyatta has never been so consumed with himself before; he has always been aware of his body, yes, has known each sensor and circuit intimately. He is even intimately aware of the human anatomy; has to be because he is one of his teams medical staff. He knows the pounding in his chest is his heart, the faint rushing he can feel under his skin must be his blood. He knows all of this, and feels a stranger in his own skin.

 

Normally, he would be attempting to comfort his lover; Genji appears to have taken the form of  a dragon, the spirit that had been shifting restlessly under his skin for weeks finally taking over. He reaches along the normal path to give Genji an orb of harmony, only to find nothing at the end to answer. His mala seem to have vanished, though he knows they are at his feet, bundled into a scarf. They do not glow or chime as they usually do, and he feels despair rising up in him.

 

Emotion had never been so sharp or severe to him before; whereas he is used to feeling great despair without any physicality, now it aches in his chest, makes his breaths come short and sharp as he curls in on himself. Vaguely, he recognizes he is having a panic attack; he has helped more than one of his teammates through such an episode, but he has never experienced one himself. He had always wondered what it was like; now, he wishes he did not.

 

Angela is there, her voice soft and comforting as she helps him regulate his breathing. He is ever grateful to her, and he can feel her regret and sorrow as intimately as he can feel the panic in his chest that is doing its best job to try and close his throat up. She is whispering apologies every so often, and when he finally gets himself under control, he wraps one hand around hers.

 

“Do not apologize so,” he says, and speaking is...an experience. He had not uttered a single word since his...resurrection, he supposes, and the feeling of his voice reverberating through his chest and not his voice box is strange. He thinks he sounds mostly the same, but he also doesn’t think he is the best judge. “You could not have known this would happen. You saved my life.”

 

“Maybe so,” Angela murmurs, and there is sadness and fear and self loathing in her eyes, and something tickles along his spine, whispers in the back of his mind ways to trip her up, ways to make the guilt and sorrow double and triple until she is so buried underneath it she is unrecognizable. He ignores it. “But in doing so I have changed you beyond what I should have. I am not even sure how I did it.”

 

“I imagine there will be a great many things people will be doing that they will have no idea how they have done so,” Zenyatta says musingly; something deep in him chuckles, and it feels like the Iris, and it feels like what lies beyond the Iris, both calm and soothing and welcoming, and deep and dark and foreboding. Zenyatta feels it now, more acutely than he ever has before. He wonders if it is because he is human now, or because he simply didn’t know where to look before.

 

_ My darling child,  _ something whispers in the back of his mind, soft and sibilant, the hiss of the Beyond he could never quite pick up before.  _ You have never been human. You certainly are not now. _

 

***

 

The return to base was actually kind of anticlimactic, considering; Genji was put into the Cradle and stabilized. With little prompting after that, his body shifted, flowed easily from one form into another while Hanzo looked on in amazement. 

 

Until then, however, he was keeping himself together by a thread. His sins, laid out on the pristine white of the Cradle before him, made his stomach turn. Genji without his armor was so small, missing three limbs, his right arm completely gone, his legs cut at the knees. The thick scar that carved across his torso was sickening to look at, and Hanzo remembers the sound his blade made as it sliced through the flesh. 

  
Hanzo swayed on his feet before settling heavily into the chair next to the Cradle as it helped Genji’s new healing factor hasten the skin around his missing limbs to heal to soft, pink skin. The connectors that had been implanted had been ejected when he transformed, and so the stubs themselves were fresh, small pockets of blood drying on the rapidly smoothing skin.

 

“Oh,” a soft, familiar voice murmurs from behind him, and he turns to see the strange man from the carrier. He is dressed in Zenyatta’s pants, and there’s something familiar in his face, but Hanzo can’t puzzle out who he is before deep, dark,  _ angry  _ eyes settle on him. 

 

_ “You  _ did this,” the man says, and his voice is layered with something darker, something angry and unsettling. Hanzo finds himself pinned by those dark eyes; his dragons roil under his skin but they seem far away and muffled, and he finds he cannot move. 

 

Golden arms emerge from the man’s back, and he realizes this man  _ is  _ Zenyatta, somehow, gasping as the arms grasp him and lift, suspending him over the Cradle. 

 

“You will pay in blood,” Zenyatta growls, and it sounds both like his voice when he is Transcending, and something else, something darker. Hanzo is trapped, a fly pinned under a microscope. Zenyatta’s  _ presence  _ is stifling, horrifying, lines of lurid, neon green sliding through the golden light he normally emits. 

 

Hanzo gasps as he fills a pinch at his elbow; he sees his own blood  _ floating  _ from his vein, swirling in circles before touching Genji’s skin. He watches in fascinated horror as it sinks into his brothers flesh, hears a soft buzzing that gives him a splitting migraine. He feels weak, as more blood flows, struggling faintly against the hands holding him, unable to even blink as he watches his blood taking the form of bone, muscle and skin over his brother. 

 

His vision blurs, and he can feel his heart slowing. He’s gasping, attempting to draw in more air but there simply isn’t enough for him. He’s trembling, eyes closing as more and more of himself is taken, given over to rebuild his brother. 

 

The darker part of himself is chuckling at the irony of the situation. His last thought before he passes out is that at least he has given back what he took from Genji. 

 

****

 

Angela finds both Hanzo and Zenyatta passed out on the floor of the medbay and calls Lucio in to help her get them into beds. They’re both extremely dehydrated and appear to be suffering from blood loss; she doesn’t even register that Genji is whole and unharmed in the Cradle until she’s tended to them. 

 

Watching the footage of what transpired in the literal  _ ten minutes  _ she was gone was more than unsettling, and she finds her stomach rebelling. She deletes the footage. 

 

Zenyatta and Hanzo seem to be recovering from the ordeal and neither seem to need a transfusion but she still puts Zenyatta in a separate ward. She isn’t quite sure what she saw him transform into, but she would rather not trigger his anger again.

 

She wonders if she is responsible for what he’s become. 

 

Genji is awake when she returns, brow curled up in confusion as he looks at his right hand, wiggling his toes with wide eyes. 

 

“What happened?” he asks, and his voice sounds odd without the reverb of his synth. Angela’s lips are tight as she considers what to tell Genji, especially with the risk of him transforming and breaking the Cradle. 

 

“I’m not quite sure,” she says, which isn’t entirely a lie. “Zenyatta preformed some sort of feat that restored your limbs, and seems to be quite exhausted from it. He is resting now.”

 

Genji sits up, impatiently tugging at the wires still attached to him and Angela clicks her tongue in annoyance as she helps him. He’s touching himself, flexing his toes and wiggling his kneecaps, eyes wide with astonishment. She knows she will be equally amazed, after she’s slept. 

 

“Where is he?” Genji demands, and Angela is hesitant to tell him, but knows he won’t settle until he’s seen his lover. 

 

“He’s in the quarantine ward,” she murmurs quietly. “I don’t know how much you remember...but he is...different now. He took a fatal hit on the battlefield and I… I’m not sure what I did, but he’s. Changed.”

 

Genji doesn’t respond to that, just stumbles out of the Cradle on coltish legs and stomps his way to the quarantine ward. Angela sighs, and rolls her shoulders. She considers taking something stronger than Tylenol for the sharp pain in her shoulders, but ultimately decides she just needs a nap. 


End file.
